For the 2012 Hogwarts Games – Shot Put Round 2. OTP, exactly 500 words.

Also for Gamma's OTP Boot Camp Prompt 33: Suffocated (suffocating)

Paula (Exceeds Expectations) has officially gotten me hooked on second person. It's all her fault – I take no responsibility!

Also, run-on sentences are fun sometimes.


You're tootoo close and yet oh-so-far away – you feel tortured, like this is your very own version of hell because he's right there an you can't touch him because there's a gulf too big to cross in between you, even while there's only a single step.

It's not like you expected things to be the same, because you're smarter than that, but that doesn't mean it doesn't ache, doesn't mean you don't ache for the way things used to be.

You still love him, after all, and you doubt you'll ever stop loving him because he's Sirius and that will never change. You love him and it hurts to be soso close and yet so very far away.

You're suffocating, choking on the nearness of him, and all you want to do is wrap your arms around him and kiss him senseless, but there's a look in his eyes and years in between you, and you find that you can't.

You're scared. You force yourself to admit it. You're scared, because you know you're not who you used to be, and he isn't who he used to be, and what if you just don't fit anymore?

You can't bear to lose him all over again, and to lose him because you're incompatible, to lose him because you're both broken and you just don't fit together anymore would almost be worse than believing what you believed. That crushed you; it meant you were wrong about who you thought he was – but it was also his problem, not yours. His fault, not yours.

Falling apart because you just don't fit together anymore, though, that would utterly destroy you – tear you apart, burn the pieces, scatter the ashes.

You are silent, both of you, and you wonder if he's contemplating the same things you are.

He looks at you and you look at him and there's something burning in those familiar grey eyes. The space between you is two steps and an eternity wide.

You won't take the step – you can't, despite how incredibly desperate you are. You're leaving this up to him, because you're broken but he's fractured, and you don't dare jostle the pieces.

You say nothing and he says nothing; the silence is deafening, resonant, and almost awkward in it's hesitancy – but not quite because it's you and it's him, and no matter the circumstances you're too comfortable to reach awkward. Still, it's a silence full of tension, taut and vibrating, waiting for action. Waiting for someone to make a move, something, anything.

And then he takes two quick strides forward and his lips are on yours and your hands are tangled in his hair and it's messy and urgent and full of all the things you both think but neither of you can say.

And he is tootoo close and yet oh-so-far away, and all you want is too be closer, because no space is too much space, and you'll never let him go again.